


I knew a tune from France

by constantwilson



Series: To pluck the feathers from a lark [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood and Violence, Deaf wes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, Wilson has PTSD, first fic for this fandom ayyy, homophobic parents, kinda???, non con, sorry but this is a very self indulgent wilson whump fic, then hurt again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantwilson/pseuds/constantwilson
Summary: Wilson's mind has been broken.His days blend together into a meaningless muddle of dulled pain and confusion. Maxwell has him on a chain like a dog, controls him and plays with him till he shatters. Yet deep down, a soft old song is sung, nearly lost to the static filling his head. One day, he finds Wes, and the tune breaks through. Wilson is forced to begin the slow and painful journey of remembering it all- what he lost, before and now. Traveling with company doesn't help the threat looming over him, Wilson knows Maxwell will have something to say about his newfound companion. Just a matter of when...
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Wes/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Series: To pluck the feathers from a lark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011252
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	1. In which Wilson finds a mime, an old ailment, and a memory

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first thought out fic ever, im so proud of myself for actually getting past the planning stage! there will be multiple works in this series, this one is more a prequel to the main point. We will see a lot of wilson getting beat up in the first work, more graphically than the others though that is subject to change. Im planning to write this work twice in some chapters. there will be themes of noncon so I wanted to make a more sfw version as well as a more... descriptive one. I want this fic to be safe for everyone to read, so this version posted now will be safe, and rated mature for the bloody bits. disclaimer, i do love redeemed maxwell and even maxwil, but this fic is literally just me writing the hurt wilson i wanted to read. you'll see nicer things from me, promise. enjoy my angsty brainchild mate! warning for noncon elements in this chapter.

Wilson didn't put much thought into what Maxwell's motivations were anymore.

He didn't tend to think at all these days; his body seemed to run on autopilot at any given time. When he was a tad more lucid his thoughts spiraled until his lungs ached from overworking, so he embraced the numbness.

Days were spent in faux blindness, chopping down trees blended together with fighting off hounds, blended together with wrapping his wounds, blended together with the sight of his blood staining the ground. At least he was left to his own dulled suffering, for the time being. At one time he might have questioned why Maxwell, possessive as he was, would ever allow Wilson out of his sight. But Wilson had run out of curiosity, the questions his mind ran with were beaten out of him, dripping hot and sticky off his bloodied back to the dirt below.

He'd even stopped trying to move through the board. It seemed like a bad idea after the beating he'd received from a newly distorted Maxwell.

At the time he'd had a slight connection in his mind, not exactly a question but an observation; that Maxwell had something to either gain or lose, and at the very least- something to hide.

Wilson didn't question anything anymore.

It'd been a long time since he'd had any autonomy. He felt like a stranger in his own body, like he was watching himself from deep within. If he wanted to wake up, he ignored it. Often he couldn't even remember Maxwell's visits, the only evidence it had ever happened were sore bones and broken skin. It was a blessing really.

Wilson knew it had been recent, the last time Maxwell had his way with his body. The soreness was still at its peak, and the marks around his neck were still deep purple. He found himself surprisingly conscious of his plight, far too much, so he walked and walked till the only thing he could focus on were his bleeding soles.

* * *

The day was already nearly half over and Wilson had managed to wander far from any existing camp sites. Too far to make it back, probably. He sat down against a pine tree, while a small detached part of himself began considering its options.

If all else failed, he could just restart. He didn't have Chester anyways. The darkness would end it fast enough after the initial swipe, he could rest a bit even. Maxwell wouldn't be pleased, yet even that wasn't enough to get Wilson's mind off it.

So many ways to stop his feeble heart. He knew it would add to the numbness, something almost tangible that Maxwell couldn't torture him out of despite his best efforts. Perhaps he'd be left alone, if only to recover enough to give Maxwell a show.

He always said he loved to hear Wilson cry.

The thought jabbed at something fragile in Wilson's head, and the memory broke open with a rush-

_It'd been hours at least, his body was done, broken beyond repair, he couldn't feel his legs anymore- he couldn't feel anything. He was aware he hadn't moved in awhile, or made a noise, not of his own volition. His mouth was hung open, and Wilson tried to focus on the spit rolling down his chin, the taste of tears on his tongue mixing with metal and God knows what else- anything but Maxwell's body on his, too close too close- but then the demon slowed, not quite stopping but near enough to bring a drop of clarity- "What's wrong doll? Finally decided to let me break you, is that it?" Wilson didn't respond, barely registering the sting of those words. He couldn't make a sound. He felt like death. Maxwell stopped, and was so still it began to ring of danger. All at once his cold leather clad hands found Wilson's neck, and squeezed- cooing softly at the choked sob he managed to wrench out of the boy. "I'll let you rest pal," and Wilson could hear those sharp teeth click together in a sneer over the pounding in his skull, "It's no fun to fuck a brainless corpse."_

Wilson gasped and jolted up from his position in the ground, almost starting to worry about how much time he'd wasted with that horrid flashback, where were his supplies? He could die-

Things clicked into place as his lungs struggled to find air. Wilson sat back eventually, remembering his earlier decision, and let a dull, nearly sickening calm take place of his survival driven panic.

The sun was almost below the horizon.

Not long now. He closed his weary eyes and tipped his head back till it rested against the rough bark of the tree. Wilson waited.

Waited.

And waited.

Nothing came.

A small ember of confusion within him refused to relinquish its glow.

It _was_ odd, considering the seasons past, the sun should have been down by now. The lady in the dark should have him, the sick smell of roses and death should be surrounding him, consuming him inside and out.

Wilson cautiously opened his eyes, and squinted them shut again quickly. He was not expecting to see light against the suffocating dark of the night. He wasn't quite close enough to see the source, but now that his eyes were adjusting, he could tell it would be enough to keep the phantom claws at bay.

Wilson sighed again, this time registering the noise as one of his own. He got up stiffly, almost hesitantly, as if someone were telling him how to move his body. Deep down he still had some grip on self preservation, he must have. His legs refused to carry him into the night, and he didn't know whether to praise or condemn his cowardly body.

No matter. If he couldn't leave the light, perhaps he could snuff it out. He willed himself to move, (just a flick of the metaphorical light switch, then blessed _rest_ ) and limped towards the brightness.

The forest soon gave way to a clearing, and Wilson's glazed eyes fell upon a large wall, containing three chambers. The first two had a statue of Maxwell in the center, the same one Wilson saw in various places, the same one he cursed and beat and cried on. The tears were still on call, so Wilson turned his attention to the third and final chamber.

He almost couldn't process the next thing he saw.

Maxwell was the only other face he'd seen in forever, (sometimes a pond would catch his own in passing but he never could look for long) and it wasn't exactly human. Not that he had anything next to normal to compare it to. Even the skeletons he'd found weren't quite right, the thought ran across his mind for the first time in years.

Wilson burned with uncomfortable newfound curiousness as he stared, slack jawed, at the sleeping human seemingly ensnared in one of Maxwell's traps. It couldn't be real. It had to be a trick, just another scheme to make Wilson fall further, lose more, he could always lose more-

_Maxwell took it a step further that day, and for the first time Wilson left the demon's grasp missing more than his mind, the blood flowing from the newly emptied socket down his face reminded him how much more he had to lose, reminded him of the white hot horror that kept scorching his stomach as Maxwell swallowed his eye with a smile full of teeth, oh there was always more to lose-_

Wilson managed to slow his breathing after a couple minutes on the ground. The evident prisoner hadn't moved, seemingly undisturbed. Wilson allowed himself to catch his breath for a few moments longer before he rose, quivering, and inched cautiously toward the sleeping man.

He was small, in the getup of a mime, complete with white face and rosy cheeks. His spiked dark hair was a stark contrast to the paleness of his boyish face. Wilson looked closer; watched in awe and horror as the man breathed. He was alive, and stuck here like Wilson.

Or he was going to melt away into giggling shadows when Wilson was finally convinced of his realness. There was always more for Maxwell to take, he reminded himself.

He almost wanted to believe it was just another one of the constant's tricks. It was easier than thinking about the possibility that he wasn't Maxwell's only victim. But what if it were him in there? Would he understand if someone thought he may be evil, and left him behind without getting to know who he was? It occurred to Wilson that he had yet to have any actual interaction with the man.

Some long forgotten words from his father were dredged up, murky and covered in sludge, but identifiable nonetheless.

"Never j-judge a muh-m-man by his… his looks, but by his a-a-actions. It w-will always be clear wh-who you can- can trust." The words left his mouth before he could realize he'd thought them at all. Wilson made a delayed cringe at the creakiness of his voice. When was the last time he'd had a problem with that god forsaken stutter? Not since he was a young lad, long ago. His train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt as movement caught his eyes, and Wilson looked up- gaze catching the disbelieving stare pointed right at him. He felt the blood drain from his face as he locked eyes with the first real person he'd seen in what had to be years.

Somehow, he moved his useless dry lips into words.

"You, you're awake…"


	2. In which Wes makes a strange new friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes discovers he isn't as alone as he thought, and Wilson gets a little exercise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! New job ;; nothing too heavy this chapter, next one will be... A tad darker...

The cage kept him in a constant state of healing, no hunger, no real exhaustion.

Whatever monster killed poor dawdling creatures in the dark was kept at bay by the ground around him, unexplainably lit aglow to ensure his survival.

It would have driven Wes insane if not for the added bonus.

He heard his first bird call in that cage. He heard his first person too.

It was a strange thing to hear a voice so clear. Maxwell spoke perfectly enunciated words in a crisp accent- that Wes placed somewhere in Britain- and informed him what would happen if he let someone attempt to rescue him from the confinement.

The demon didn't allow for any kind of response; Wes found that his voice, however unsure it had been, was gone entirely.

The devil disappeared in a blink of an eye, leaving behind nothing but a short lived puff of black smoke and cackling shadows.

So Wes waited.

Mostly he imagined he was painting, each calming brushstroke crystal clear in his mind. He could almost smell the paint. Sometimes he listened as hard as he could, trying to memorize each new sound his ears were blessed with.

As time ticked on the world ran dry of unfamiliar noise.

Wes eventually decided Maxwell must have been lying. Years had to have passed by now, and he'd only seen animal life, exotic as it was. No one was coming to rescue him.

Even if someone tried they would be beat to a pulp as far as he knew. It was better he was alone, left with his imaginary paintings and the bird song.

Time ran into mush; eternity with nothing to do battered Wes and his fragile mind.

* * *

Wes hadn't heard anything exciting for a few days, so with nothing better to do he decided to try and sleep for as long as possible. Perhaps he could beat his previous record.

The process mostly involved pretending to be asleep. If he was a technical man, Wes might have acknowledged he was really just seeing how long he could keep his eyes closed. 

* * *

Around what was probably day five, Wes was snapped out of the fog he'd managed to lose himself in.

There was a new noise, a pattern of crunches were approaching - footsteps.

Wes remained in his pretend sleep, not quite intrigued, yet all the while becoming increasingly aware of the unidentified animal. It was getting closer, and it wasn't anything he could place.

Too heavy for a pigman, not fast enough for a gobbler, definitely not one of those terrible hounds.

There was a pause in the stride- Wes listened a bit harder and was rewarded with a dull thud that gave way to shrill, gasping breaths.

It filled Wes immediately with raw, instinctual terror. The unidentified, heart wrenching cries made his stomach flip and twist in knots, it was broken, sad, and whatever made it was clearly in anguish.

The sound was distressing to say the very least.

_An animal in pain will lash out..._

Wes let his nerves take him and pondered anxiously. Knowing there was nowhere he could run, no way a weakling like him could fight back, he feigned ignorance. The only thing to do was to play dead, maybe he hadn't even been noticed by whatever the hell this was.

The noise stopped after a few minutes, but Wes kept his panic close, laying completely still despite the crushing urge to jump up and _look_ \- burn whatever made those horrible choked wails into his mind.

He nearly jumped when the sluggish gait headed toward him, definitely him, resumed with an added unsteadiness. Wes tried not to tremble.

_C'mon, breathe, just breathe, slow and even like you're deep in sleep, you can do it! It's probably just wanting the protection of the light. It can't hurt you crétin! It cannot. It won't-_

The steps stopped somewhat close to his cage; Wes concentrated on breathing until it was all he registered, pretending to pretend to be asleep getting easier second by painstaking second-

A completely new noise, just a few feet from his cage stopped everything.

The world ground to a halt around him, it was only Wes and his mind, which broke a bit upon realization of what exactly the noise was.

He hadn't been sure at first, it was so creaky, stopping and restarting in odd bursts like an unsure brushstroke.

It was a voice, a completely unique human voice, it had to be. The second person he'd ever got to listen to, and he'd treated the experience like a horror story. Guilt and disbelief bloomed through Wes like a wildflower, clouding any other judgement he had.

He sat up sharply, wasting no time in snapping his sight upon the stranger, with nothing short of desperation.

The man, the _human man_ , appeared to be lost in thought for the moment, and Wes took the time to drink in the sight.

He was beaten up, strange dark bruises lined his neck while his long scruffy face was adorned with scratches. His eyes were dark and sunken in, further exaggerated by the deep bags beneath them.

Wes took it all in, the wild, swooping dark hair, the long black fingerless gloves on roughed up hands which wrung themselves together, the red vest against black trousers, how the small man was hunched over to be even smaller- till he looked back at the tired eyes right as they truly opened.

He met the man's shocked gaze with one of his own, suddenly quite unsure of how to handle the situation. The person before Wes opened his mouth a few times, and after a few failed starts, managed to find his voice.

"You, you're awake…"

Wes gulped and nodded slowly. The man before him let out a series of squeaky notes- laughing Wes realized- madly without smiling. His face switched between several indiscernible emotions before he managed to calm and stifle his deranged giggles.

Wes watched nervously, straight faced as the situation allowed. "I- I'm sorry. Sor, sorry." The man breathed hard, as if the apology had taken all he had out of him, and fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his torso.

_He's giving himself a hug._

The thought blew away any distrust Wes carried. Just another poor fool stuck here alone, for god knows how long.

_Comme moi..._

Wes gazed sympathetically into teary eyes as the man gasped, attempting to form words.

"Are you- re, real? Please… I can't."

The voice broke into muted sobbing, while Wes watched on, and felt his heart break into a million pieces.

_I can't give him what he's given me. He probably hasn't heard another voice since Maxwell either…_

The demons' warning rang through Wes's mind, and he gasped, causing the man to look up, staring at him with big watery eyes. Wes knew from experience that hardly any hearing folk wanted to learn to sign, let alone knew what it was. He was used to having pantomime as a main communication.

Clapping to draw further attention as he pointed to his throat, Wes shook his head and pulled his lips into a frown. He moved to show an X with his hands over his lips. The other man's dull eyes brightened a smidge as he connected the movements to meaning.

"You can-can't talk... Me eithhher re, really."

Wes smiled, the man tried to reciprocate and then began to move closer.

Wes' smile fell and he jumped up, hands outstretched- _stop, don't come close, you can't take them, partir_!- shaking his head feverently.

The man slowed, confused, but not enough, not in time, and in an instant, a gang of clockwork chess pieces set to kill spawned around them.

Wes barely had time to let out a silent scream before they were focused in on the man.

For one sickening second as they charged, he was sure he was about to be forced to watch his first friend in years get killed, in any number of ways, forced to look at his corpse day after day-

Then the small man straightened up to his full height, whipping around to face his foes with a roar that echoed around them.

The sun began to rise as Wes' mouth dropped open, watching the seemingly futile scene transform before his eyes.

The tiny man had flipped like a light switch; he'd turned into some sort of feral fighting machine, dodging and swiping, almost in a graceful dance if not for the twisted primal snarl on his face.

Wes felt like he was at the theater, the scene before him played out like a fantastical stage performance. The man, though little and weak in comparison, was beating those horrid metal contraptions. He wasn't avoiding them entirely, but it didn't seem to phase him much, if anything, each hit seemed to offend him, fueling his fighting rage.

A couple times Wes thought he was a goner, but the determined man fought through the electricity flowing through his body, wavering only slightly as he seized and screamed and swung his small bloodied fists.

It went on forever.

Above the swearing and shouting, metal and bone crushed together, creating a sound Wes never knew and wished he could forget- until the man stood alone, hunched and panting over a pile of gears.

He was covered in burns and blood, growls invading his haggard breath. He coughed, grunting in pain as he turned to Wes, who was beginning to feel a bit strange.

"Wh- what. Wa, w-was that!?"

The battered man snapped at him, and stared into his soul while Wes dropped to his knees, beginning to cry in relief. The angered expression cooled, and the shorter man shuffled closer, an empathic grimace revealing impossibly darker bags beneath his eyes.

"Erm. H-hey, hey n-now. I'm fffi, fine…"

The world began to blur and ring in Wes's ears, forcing the mime to wobble. His head filled with cotton as his vision split. Wes felt his stomach drop and the world spin beneath him, managing to catch a shout of surprise and glimpse of the man's bloodied gloves reaching out before he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And by a tad darker I mean a lot. Hope this wasn't too boring!! More tags will be added as I see fit. Thanks for the amazing comments and kudos!!! Comments definitely help me write more ;) stay classy my fellow wilson whumpers.


	3. In which we visit the past, to understand the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson wasn't always this afraid. A piece of him was killed along the way, or so he thinks. 
> 
> WARNING- THIS CHAPTER FEATURES EXPLICIT NONCON, IT IS ALL ITALICIZED. There is safer stuff later in the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy I got a new job so I am. Busy all the time now. I finally got this chapter out, thanks to all the other wilson whump writers out there, and anyone who leaves comments or kudos! Y'all inspire me. This chapter has some bad lemons in the beginning, it's all in italics.

_Around a certain point Wilson began to notice his instinct changing. His will to disobey was slipping, and with it his sense of self. Maxwell's appearances were becoming increasingly common as time chugged on. Having to survive those two things, a harsh world and the manipulation of a demon, took its toll._

_He couldn't quite reach memories of the good parts of his life before the constant fight for survival. Time and hurt in a place that could rival hell, complete with Satan himself wore down on his mind like the ocean on solid stone, leaving grains of memory to run through his fingers. Wilson wasn't one for religion involving damnation, but the comparison was obvious._

_His family came to mind often._

_Every touch Maxwell forced upon him brought memories of times he wanted that, how his own father had beat him senseless every time he caught Wilson so much as looking at a man._

_It stuck in his head through school, through countless days, right up through the portal._

_And then there was no choice but to see no one._

_No one but Maxwell._

_Maxwell did nothing but touch him, watch him, and there wasn't anything he could do to gain back control._

* * *

_The shadow king began gentle for once, and Wilson knew it could only mean there was more planned._

_The kiss was still as dominating as ever; he struggled to breathe as Maxwell forced his mouth open wider- wet, long, tongue slithering down his throat. He gagged, and Max eased back, giving him room and time to get a shaky inhale before using the distraction to shift positions, pinning his prey to the ground._

_They kissed again, deep and sensual, Maxwell's serpentine tongue twisted and swirled inside Wilson's mouth, wrapping around his own tongue. The resulting tingle ignited a hot fire between Wilson's legs, and he whined in shame against his abusers lips._

_Maxwell pulled back. He smirked and ground his growing bulge against Wilson's; eating up the adorable noises his pet was making. With a snap, the gentleman scientist was stripped of all clothing. The small man snapped his head up, glaring like he wasn't expecting the predicament._

_He opened his mouth, ready to cuss and scream, only to have Maxwell hold a finger to his lips. A shadowy blob formed, forcing its way inside. The thing pulsed, growing to fill the space, uncaring as Wilson gagged and thrashed about._

_A hand curled carefully around the base of his cock, prompting wide, teary eyes to meet dull, empty ones, stock stillness and a long whimper. Maxwell began to slide his hand up, painfully slow and soft. A groan caught in Wilson's throat, then creaked out despite his best efforts. The palm left, replaced by spindly fingers. The thin digits were much worse than the hand, gliding over his dick with just enough pressure to bring a pleasurable tickle and burn._

_A wide grin split Maxwell's face when the man under him thrust upwards, trying desperately to get release. He kept teasing his pet, watching with sick glee as the pale body under him became slick with sweat and other substances, as Wilson unraveled into a shivering, horny mess._

_Wilson screamed inside his own head, fighting his body as it betrayed him entirely. His thighs were on fire, the fingers forced upon him danced around expertly, and all the wetness escaping his throbbing member only helped._

_He was being undone from the inside and out. He cried and tried to pretend it hurt. It was easier when it hurt-_

_Maxwell watched as Wilson closed his eyes tight, weeping and shaking his head. A small spark of something that could have been guilt burned inside the demon._

Everyone needs an intermission now and then. 

_He released the boys bonds enough for him to squirm, and the shadow gag was removed for the time being. Half expecting his pet to thank him like he was trained to, Maxwell's generosity died with the spark of pity as Wilson wasted no time giving the usual excuses. The silly boy was taking a long time to learn._

_"Don't, don't touch me! G, get OFF me you fucking asshole! Let me go! I swear to God I'll k-k-kill y,you-you, I'll rip you apart, fucking bas,_ bastard _!"_

_Wilson shouted bloody murder until Maxwell yawned dramatically, wrapped his hands around the pale neck, and squeezed, with a force near crushing._

_The boy fought back hard, snarling, swearing, wasting precious energy just to spite the nightmare king, and it delighted said king to no end._

_Maxwell let out a laugh to rival thunder._

_"You play this game so well doll, it's almost as if you_ haven't _been a lonely faggot this whole time."_

_His gloved hands relaxed around Wilson's throat as the smaller man stopped fighting. Maxwell prickled with pride at his insult, carefully crafted to pull just the right strings in his prey's mind. He looked down, excited to see the face his little scientist would make for him._

_He hadn't quite been expecting the glazed eyes. He hadn't killed Wilson, he was sure of it. Maxwell backed up slightly, waiting for Wilson to move. It took a few minutes, and then Wilson began to scream._

_Maxwell watched on, slightly disturbed as Wilson cried, trembled, shouting garbled nonsense. Eventually he began to piece together the choked words._

_His pet was pleading, begging his father to stop hurting him._

_Dark, soulless eyes bore down on the scene. Wilson wailed with no sign of slowing._

_"I'm not, PLEASE, dad, please, I'm not a f-fag I, dad stop, please! I, I'm not, not I'm not, I'm n-nah-not I swear-swear-"_

_Something in Maxwell's head crumbled to dust and blew away carelessly. Any guilt he had, and the crushing weight of the words Wilson spoke were eradicated, replaced by the cackle and chatter of Them. Maxwell cackled manically along with Them. A new button to press. Not just that. A new way to put his pet under him. A reward, a treat just for him._

_The beast laughed louder, lips pulled back to showcase sharp teeth glinting, and wasted no time descending upon his prize._

* * *

_Wilson came to eventually, gasping. His insanity had worn itself out. He drifted hesitantly back to the situation at hand, taking inventory. He found himself flipped over, about to be filled, forced apart for Maxwell's need. Everything happened too fast and Wilson had no time to process, let alone find anger within._

_He sobbed and screamed as Maxwell thrust sharply forward, and forced himself inside. He was prepared in some way, but it wasn't nearly enough to ready him. The demon gave him no time to relax or think before slamming all the way in- Wilson roared in pain, sobbing as he felt several things tear inside of him. Maxwell began to thrust like an animal, panting and groaning with unabashed pleasure, ignoring the pained shrieks that escaped Wilson's sore throat each time he was stretched past his breaking point. The beast was entirely relentless, as unforgiving as the land he'd created. Wilson was nothing more than putty in his hands._

_The impossible pace quickened. Maxwell pulled Wilson up and into his lap by the hair, still fucking roughly into him with powerful, snapping rolls of his hips. Blood ran down the skinny pale legs in tiny, plentiful streams, dripping on the ground below._

_Like tuning an old radio, Wilson was dragged back and forth, from deafening static into reality. He hung limply in Maxwell's grasp, drooling and crying out as he was stretched open, broken apart._

_Maxwell purred and slapped his pet sharply on the bottom, rewarding the gurgled cry with a squeeze of the reddening skin as he continued to fuck deeply up into Wilson._

_"Ah, god- oh sweet thing~ so good for me aren't you, rolling over so nicely… mm, you never fail little slut, ah, just like that my lonely toy… your master has you, good_ good _boy-"_

_It hurt too much to focus on, but his mind refused to look elsewhere. The pain was driving him crazy, he'd never felt more lost or insane. He could barely hear the noises he was making anymore, his vision was spinning yet he could feel it all, every wet slap, and then Maxwell bit into his flesh like he were just a piece of meat-_

_Wilson was brought to a small ray of lucidity when Maxwell bit down on his neck harder, in just the wrong spot. A gargled cry was all he managed before blood began to spurt forth. Everything slowed. His lungs refused to fill all the way, so Wilson began to fight to inhale with a wet gasping wheeze. Maxwell paid no mind. He was forced to repeat the process over and over, blood dribbled down his chin as he fought to breathe._

_"Ax… m, ma- I can, can't-"_

_His whole body was aflame. It was fighting to live, and all he could do was gasp and wheeze and choke on his own life as it ran out of him, staining the dirt. Maxwell drank from him like a fountain._

_Wilson receded further into his mind while Maxwell continued to take his body and his strength, and after an indiscernible amount of time, he felt his lungs give up altogether. Maxwell had long since gone feral, and continued to ravage his body with a wild look to his eyes. Wilson watched his own blood on the sharp teeth with agonizing awe while he died._

_Maybe he_ was _just a toy now. Maybe he'd always been. A perfect doll for his family, and now for Maxwell._

_The worst part was being unable to deduct which one he wanted to own him._

_Wilson slowed down, his sanity leaving long before his tattered body gave up. Though his brain was shattered beyond repair, he felt it cling onto the last threads of life as Maxwell pulled them taut. He felt them fray, then tug, and felt the final second of connection right as it severed. With a snap no one heard, Wilson slipped away._

* * *

_Brown, tired eyes twitched open, body remade. The twisting landscape stabilized from whirlpool to slight stormy seas, sanity returning with the rippling scenery._

_Wilson lay on his back on the floor, body free of bondage and clothing. Maxwell stood above him, gripping his legs in place, and waiting to force his way inside Wilson's fresh body. The second their eyes met, Maxwell was forcing his way inside. There was no preparation, just the dryness of skin on skin. Wilson felt his throat tear with his innards as he screamed into oblivion._

_Over his snotty sobbing he heard Maxwell's voice rumbling through his head._

_"Mmm~ it's just you and me precious thing- I won't let anyone near you. They can't, ah, hurt you here, I'm the only one with those rights. All mine, forever~"_

_Wilson shut himself away, layered deep in his own mind. He heard his voice crack as his body shook back and forth, cries becoming softer as he pushed his vocal chords past the edge._

_There was no one else in the entire world. No one but Maxwell, and him, forever._

_After the fifth time he was brought back from the dead only to be violated again, Wilson buried himself inside his mind, expecting he would never be uncovered._

* * *

Wilson carried the unconscious mime on his back, panting as he continued to overexert himself. The man was slender, but a tad taller than he was. 

They made it halfway back to one of his camps before Wilson had to give in to exhaustion. 

He crouched down and gently let the man slip off his back onto the soft grass below. The wounds he withstood during the clockwork fight were screaming for attention with each step, and the events of the previous evening were starting to gnaw at his mind.

It had been a long time since Wilson willingly put his hands anywhere near someone. Now he had rescued a fellow victim of Maxwell's and gave said stranger a piggyback ride. 

The lack of soft breath in his ear was oddly noticeable. Wilson didn't know whether to feel relieved or sad at the loss of such close contact. He settled for watching his charge.

The sleeping man lay on the ground near the humble beginnings of a makeshift camp. It would do for now, Wilson mused.

He'd found a decent spot, one he passed by eons ago in an effort to get to know the lay of the land. Leaving patches of resources was smart in such an unforgiving place, as Wilson often found. 

An ax and pick-axe came together in no time, and Wilson spared a concerned parting glance at his new friend.

"Ah, I- I will return shhhortly."

He stammered quietly before running off towards a nearby rock field. 

* * *

All that remained was to chop a few trees and then they would be safe and sound for the night. 

Wilson sat and chewed on a few berries he'd found, eyeing the man next to him. He hadn't woken up yet, still sleeping upon Wilson's return. It was both confusing and troublesome. 

Maybe he wasn't supposed to help the man? Did he need the chess pieces alive to live?

Wilson sighed and laid back, noting the sun dipping lower. No use asking questions that couldn't be answered yet, patience was usually key in any experiment. 

He had waited long enough to see a friendly face, he could wait a little longer for the story behind it. 

If he even wanted to know.

Part of him didn't want to be asking anything. Now that he had questions, he had to acknowledge just how conditioned he'd allowed himself to become. Wilson Higgsbury didn't have curiosity anymore, not after Maxwell got in his head and purged anything he couldn't control.

And yet, this wasn't just about the nightmare king anymore. A whole new variable had just added itself to what should have been a finished study. 

Thinking felt muddled, wrong in a different way than usual. Instead of running, Wilson got up and went to work. There were trees that needed chopping.

His wounds were still irritated, yet to be attended to, and they flared up every so often to voice their complaints, but no longer agonized him. The day had gone on as well as any day could in the constant.

During his trek for rocks and food he'd even managed to find enough flowers to make a few flower crowns. One for him and one for the stranger.

Wilson grimaced as he swung the ax, splitting a few of the larger lacerations on his arms open. He paid them little mind.

The thoughts pouring into his head wouldn't stop, and deep down Wilson knew a dam he hadn't noticed before had broken inside him. 

This wasn't good. 

There was no way Maxwell would let him near another person. No way he could keep him safe once they were found out. 

But then why hadn't Maxwell stopped him right away? 

It had to be a long game, one where Wilson finally trusted what he perceived, and right then Maxwell would tear it all down, and Wilson with it.

Wilson sighed, exasperated.

He couldn't just leave a mime who had no clue what to do in a hostile land by his lonesome. The man didn't look like someone who could rough it in the wilderness.

He hadn't been either. Imagining the tall, slender man waking up alone- navigating a world that wanted him dead, surviving by trial and error- brought a feeling of protection Wilson didn't know he had in him. 

It felt familiar, like an old song.

Shaking off the vague, dusty nostalgia, that had settled, Wilson collected the felled logs. 

He walked back over to camp and sat beside the mime once more. Twilight had snuck up on the two of them while he pondered. 

A fire came together, sparking and popping like Wilson's mind, jump started after sitting unused for ages. It was rickety and unsure, but it chugged faithfully on.

The mime stirred, curling in on himself and groaning. Wilson stood up on instinct, and eyed his spear, laying down beside him. 

There was no time left to consider his options. Fear stabbed at his chest, and the mime stretched his legs, beginning to rise.

Wilson gasped, and felt his body seize up before he had time to comprehend he'd been about to pass out from anxiety. Just barely, he hung on as the man turned to face him. Wilson tried to breathe in and failed, only successful in sending himself further into a spiral. He gasped, clutching his ribs. 

_No, no, no! He could do anything while you're unconscious, you have to breathe stupid man, stupid, useless man!_

_Please, please- it hurts, help, help me!_

The mime was approaching now, getting closer by the second. Wilson tried to inhale through the stabbing pains wracking his lungs one last time before he couldn't hang on any longer. 

His ears picked up a strange sound as he toppled over, one he couldn't decipher.

"Oh, putain! As-tu besoin d'aide?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that wasn't too much. I feel... Devilish... But not enough...


	4. In which Maxwell overestimates his hold over Wilson, who actually has quite the singing voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Warnings apply!!! 
> 
> Maxwell discovers two little pawns, disobeying their king. He can try to break them, but Wilson has found a hidden strength. 
> 
> Long forgotten faces hide beneath an old song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavier, ive been trying for a month to finish it! childhood dog just passed so i have been out of it recently. feeling better as of late. Writing is my main outlet, so expect a lot more whumpy wilson fics from me...

The second Wes awoke he realized his hearing was fading, receding back to what it had been, before. He clung to the muted sound of breath entering and leaving his lungs, biding precious time as he pushed away from slumber.

The process was accelerated when a noise came into focus- Wes had heard it a few times, during thunderstorms, after a great white bolt of lightning struck down around the loathsome cage. 

Popping and crackling, it meant fire, and he was sure there was no flash, for the boom afterward would have been heard by even his failing ears. 

With some tired reluctance, Wes stretched his limbs, grumbling as they trembled and ached. Memories clicked around till they found their place, and oh what a mess he puzzled together.

Things were different, again, forever. He was out, the cage expanded, and after infinity doing nothing, he would be surviving the alien terrain he'd observed for so long. He took further inventory, noting there were balloons on his person, somehow, and he knew it without even seeing them.

_What the hell?_

His nerves and the sheer ridiculousness of the new situation brought the motivation to open his eyes. In his peripheral Wes saw a shadow grin to reveal a line of dark spiky teeth. He jumped up so fast his vision swam and split, before settling back.

The sensation of hunger and mortality shocking his systems, as well as the shadowy presence creeping nearby, were merely afterthoughts; there was something better to do now than ponder over changing senses. 

Someone else was here now, a short, wild haired stranger. 

The guy didn't seem to be much of a threat until the battle with the clockwork chess pieces, yet seemed docile enough Wes had been sure even he could have taken him in a fight. Such notions were smacked from his head, exterminated, like the metal guards beneath bloodied fists. 

Before Wes could get any more thinking done, he noticed the man standing stock still several feet away from the corner of his eye. 

Wes twisted around swiftly, holding his hands up in surrender- but there was no response. The guy wasn't even looking at him. Wes noted the blank brown eyes, and started shuffling slowly towards the shaking man, who was hugging himself, breathing erratically through loud, heavy sobs. Twig-like legs shook and he began to sway. Wes swore rushing towards him, but not in time. The stranger fell to the ground.

"As-tu besoin d'aide?"

The soft sound of his own voice almost stopped Wes in his tracks, _so strange to hear it after all this time!_ But the man wasn't calming, and after another heartbreaking shriek, his hands raked down the sides of his face, leaving trails of blood behind.

The sight of it nearly brought Wes to tears. 

_Does he feel that? Is he aware at all?_

Wes sighed as if he’d aged fifty years in a second, trying to forget how his ears were refusing to pick up smaller sounds anymore. He crouched down by the stranger, perched on his heels, ready to flee should anything go awry. 

_He needs help, how do I calm someone I know nothing of?_

He pondered, wracking his brain for anything he knew of comforting another person. 

Not just another person, the only other person. 

The man spoke English, helped him when he didn't have to, and seemed to be ignoring most of the injuries he'd sustained doing so. Burns and lacerations covered porcelain skin, some breaking open anew as chipped nails tore down the teary face.

Wes bit his lip, to keep his own tears back. 

He was trying to calm a good person, who was trapped in an unfamiliar world, stubbornly surviving through thick and thin. They were almost the same.

With absolutely nothing else of use coming to mind, Wes began humming, trying to mimic a particularly proud redbird he'd become familiar with recently. After a few embarrassing false starts, he found a groove and went with it, turning to his own melody as he got comfortable. It was getting harder to hear by the second; and despite the situation, Wes had never felt more serene. 

Long ago, his sign instructor had told him his speaking voice was good enough to sing with eventually, if he practiced. The idea was always enticing, but never seemed attainable, and now, here he was, creating his own song for his own private audience. 

Feeling a bit selfish, Wes focused back in on the man.

He was no longer hurting his own skin- _c'est bon, it's working!_ \- still lay on his side, skinny arms wrapped around his chest in a mock hug. His breathing was slowing at a steady pace. 

Wes broke into a small, hopeful grin, and continued his song with rejuvenated passion. The silly muffled tune was the most beautiful thing he'd experienced, in a long time.

Eventually, the man let out a lengthy, shaking breath, released himself from his embrace, and sat up, resting on his knees. 

Wes stopped humming abruptly.

Wide, bloodshot eyes shot up, gazing feverishly at Wes, tracking up and down his body before screeching to a halt. The mime and the scientist made complete eye contact, refusing to move or blink.

Wes broke the trance, recalling the kind man who first approached him. 

_He could have hurt me already, if he wanted to.  
_

He smiled graciously and extended his hand, while bowing his head, letting the stranger leave his sight. 

He looked up as he felt something being put around his outstretched arm- a large ring of flowers. Wes looked at his new friend with joyful amusement, noticing the bleeding face had softened somewhat.

"Here, I ma-made you a flower c-crown. I-I'm Wilson..."

* * *

"What did you do before this? I'm guessing you weren't an adventurer."

"I did a lot of painting, and I'm sure you know the second."

He gestured to himself with a silly grin on his face.

Wilson chuckled softly, blushing.

"I wasn't sure if that was your choice or not! You look good."

Wes nodded with a cheeky smirk, slightly blushing as Wilson barreled on with his clunky, rambled signing. Those rough hands could only hold so much of Wes's attention; his gaze drifted to Wilson's freshly shaved face, and soon he found himself in a content trance. 

Wes zoned out, considering the past few weeks.

Now that they had an effective way of communication, he spent most of his time helping Wilson perfect it, alongside the normal toil of the constant.

Wes had silently decided on American sign language, English seemed to be Wilson's native language. The man had improved over the week they'd been working together, surprisingly quick. He was able to pick up new words in a snap, the muscle memory of it all seemed to be a breeze for him. It was the expressions which gave him a hard time, but Wes noticed improvement after a few reminders. 

Teaching had never been part of his life. He supposed Wilson must be a smart man for being able to decipher his jumbled meanings so quickly. He tried to take the approach his mother took, patient and rewarding rather than discouraging. 

It was challenging at first; Wes hadn't spoken since that first sentence, had found no reason to. They worked past it, and Wilson didn't seem to remember he'd ever said anything in the first place, which made it simple. 

No extra questions, and Wilson had many. 

On the first day, however, there hadn't been much asked at all. 

Wes had reasoned his new friend must be judging his character, sizing him up to see if he was hostile. The day was spent proving himself to be peaceful- a good, calm man who helped. He busied himself with bandaging Wilson's wounds, while Wilson mumbled to himself, applying strange goop and eating flowers, always keeping Wes in his sight. 

That night, Wes was given a straw mat. He fell asleep watching Wilson sit by the fire, staring into the flames in a daze. 

When the morning began anew and Wes woke, Wilson was up, ready to toss him a spare backpack. They left shortly after breakfast.

Wilson used their travel to try his best to explain the basics to Wes, which things to eat and not, but it was difficult to make out everything. After the fifth of sixth time Wes indicated he hadn't understood, Wilson loudly proclaimed that it was no matter, he'd wanted to rest his throat anyways. He resorted to pointing and shaking his head yes or no.

And he went on talking despite that, muffled murmurs and squeaky honks Wes could only just decipher. Why he had nothing to ask yet was lost on Wes, but not unappreciated. 

The third day was spent learning how to handle the world around him. They fought a group of spiders, adorned with splintering log suits, and gripping their spears tight. After destroying the tiny beasts, they chopped trees till their hands bled. 

Wilson didn't notice his own palms bleeding, but saw Wes's right away. He'd made a small, sad sound that could have been an apology, and Wes was made to sit beside him. His calloused, bleeding hands were bandaged with a tenderness long forgotten.

By day four, it seemed Wilson was waking up.

Not knowing what he'd been like before, Wes assumed Wilson's nature to be a lot meeker than it actually was. 

_Am I really at fault?  
_

His friend apologized for everything, it seemed he was afraid of his own existence. And now, the more confidence he saw Wilson gain, the more he berated himself. 

Too many times had Wes seen him flinch when he raised a hand, too many times Wes had hummed to him, trying to snap him away from staring with those wild eyes, weeping silently, breathing hard. Sometimes Wilson screamed in his sleep, garbled pleading- " _get, get aw-away, please s-stop_!" that brought tears to Wes's eyes. 

Over time he realized that Wilson hadn't been sizing him up in the way he'd imagined. 

_Why did I not see!?  
_

Someone had hurt Wilson, badly, and it broke a part of his mind. He asked the same questions a lot, not recalling he'd asked them before. It had gotten better by a smidge lately, as he opened up to Wes. They'd come far in just a week and a half; the stream of questions didn't end once Wilson realized Wes had no intention of hurting him for speaking.

_On the topic of speaking…_

"Hey. Hey!"

Wes snapped out of his thoughts to see Wilson's hand waving in his face. He faked a frown and shook his head.

"You know, signing that close to my face is seen as rude!"

Wilson blanched immediately and grimaced, looking down at his feet. Wes mirrored the expression, shame burning in his chest. 

_Fuck._

He'd managed to insight some kind of fear- something he promised himself he wouldn't ever do to the poor man. 

Wes shook his head, determined to right his failures. He stuck his own hand in Wilson's face, smiling shyly as the man looked up with hopeful eyes.

"We're lucky those silly rules don't apply here."

Wilson relaxed and gave a lopsided smile.

"You must be from a very silly place if they have rules like that."

Wes gasped comically, causing Wilson to jump. 

"You don't know where I'm from? Really?"

He had to repeat his excited hand signing a few times for Wilson to understand what he'd said.

"I guess I never asked… I thought I had..."

"Don't worry! I can tell you now. You sure you don't have any guesses?"

When Wilson shook his head, Wes curtsied, then spelled it out for him.

"France, you're from France?"

Wes nodded and smiled proudly. He braced for the overwhelming onslaught of curiosity, but his friend seemed lost in thought, staring at him with glazed eyes. He waved at Wilson, who didn't respond. His lips moved, but the sound they released was barely recognizable. Wes waved again, stepping closer. This time, Wilson noticed him, and blushed, raising his hands. 

"Sorry, I just remembered something. I think I knew a tune from France."

Wes gasped, hopping in place excitedly with big soulful eyes, and Wilson melted.

"Really? Do you still know it?"

"I think so…" 

Wilson signed slowly, face getting redder by the second.

Wes continued to bounce, ecstatic as a puppy, and begged Wilson to sing for him. 

"Alright, alright. Just don't laugh at me, and listen close. I won't ever sing again!" 

Wilson declared, smiling shyly.

Wes nodded and signed his approval, eyes shining. 

They sat down at the same time, close to each other, knees touching. Wes wondered if Wilson was as aware of the feeling as he was. He looked up expectantly.

Wilson took a deep breath, and began to sing.

"Alouette, gentille Alouette

Alouette je te plumerai

Alouette, gentille Alouette

Alouette je te plumerai-"

He nearly stopped to begin laughing as Wes got up to dance, round and round the fire. Only the knowledge that Wes would likely stop if he did kept him going; Wilson sang confidently louder.

"Je te plumerai la tête

Je te plumerai la tête

Et la tête, et la tête

Alouette, Alouette-"

All at once he was up, on his tired feet, pulled along by Wes into a chaotic, whirlwind ballet of arms and legs and laughter, they were laughing together-

"Alouette, gentille Alouette

Alouette je te plumerai

Alouette, gentille Alouette

Alouette je te plumerai

Alouette, gentille Alouette

Alouette je te plumerai-"

His body's usual pains were nothing against the burn of his cheeks and soul, he could hear his smile working into the song while Wes twirled and spun around him, and then they connected by their outstretched hands-

"Je te plumerai le nez

Je te plumerai le nez

Et le nez, et le nez

Alouette, Alouette

Alouette, gentille Alouette

Alouette je te plumerai!"

Their dance ended with their hands entwined together, red, flushed faces nose to nose. Wilson looked into Wes's eyes and found nothing but trust and- something he almost didn't recognize.

Love.

He'd seen love, in his parents eyes, before he grew older, and before they realized he would never be what they wanted, he'd seen love in the eyes of dames, searched for it in the eyes of men but never found it, and over time he'd stopped looking altogether.

Wes put a hand to his cheek, and Wilson sighed, leaning into the soft, warm touch, letting everything go, for just a moment. 

Their foreheads connected, and they were okay. Wilson was okay, he wasn't fighting it. The warmth swelled and kept growing, like the fire around them was flowing through their bodies, Wilson knew Wes felt it, felt the same, he never wanted it to end, they were getting closer-

"Get your _disgusting_ mitts away from my pet before I chop them off, _**pal**_."

The heat died instantly, blown to oblivion by a mind numbing, bone chilling cold. Wilson felt his legs tremble, then give out, and dropped to his knees.

* * *

From his indefinite position bound to the throne, Maxwell tugged at shadowy bonds, huffing with irritation. He'd been attempting to reason with Them for days now. They were sniggering like idiots, conspiring against him. 

Hiding something.

"Come _on_ , I've done nothing but tend to the others for days now, they're not getting anywhere. You must be bored as I am, so why don't you show me the scientist? You all remember how much fun we have with him…"

The dark mass of cackling shadows surrounding the throne looked back and forth at each other, sparing no theatrics. They shuffled the array of screens in front of him, till a new dozen were in front. 

Maxwell leaned forward, straining against his bonds. He scanned the images fervently, letting out a whiny groan of impatience when he found no sign of his favorite plaything.

"If you don't let me mess with him _now,_ I _refuse_ to play with anyone else! We can go right back to how things started."

There was silence, save for his sharp breathing, then he was rewarded for his childlike obstinance. The screens folded like a deck of cards, till only one remained in sight. 

Shadows snickered as Maxwell gasped. Someone was touching his things. His best thing. 

He took a few moments to seethe, drinking in the horrid scene before reacting. The nightmare king let out an animalistic growl, tore a copy of himself from his body and the throne. He stepped into the false skin- then headed straight for Wilson.

* * *

_Stupid, **stupid** , let my guard down, again, always failing-_

Wes stepped in front of him, arms out protectively. It almost made Wilson laugh, how was he worthy of such futile, selfless actions? Wes knew, he had to know how much power was being held over their heads.

Maxwell looked down upon the mime, wrinkled face pulled back in a dramatic show of utter disgust.

"Cute. _Real_ sweet. Of all the pawns he could have come by, it had to be you! It just _had_ to be your ghastly paws touching my things."

He snarled and snapped his fingers. 

On cue, shadow hands tipped with gnarled claws burst up, and grasped Wes tight around the chest and waist, forcing his arms to his sides. They lifted him off the ground and held him there, unwavering as their captive attempted to wiggle out. 

Maxwell waved his hand nonchalantly and they squeezed harder. Wes squeaked and went still, clearly getting the message.

"D-don't hurt h-him-"

Maxwell interrupted Wilson with a glare that could kill, and grabbed a fistful of those enticing dark curls, pulling the yelping boy around in clear view of their audience. He lifted Wilson up by the hair, and threw him down. 

"Pet, he's not the one who broke the rules. If I wanted to see him hurt I would do it, not stick him out of sight in a cage _no one was to open_."

His voice was dripping with disdain, ringing all the danger bells, and while Wilson lay on his back, gasping for the breath that was knocked from his lungs, he felt relief, Wes would be safe, Maxwell didn't seem to care about the mime. Just him. 

Only him.

Maxwell knelt down and grabbed his chin in a crushing hold. Spurred on by the low whine Wilson let out through his teeth, sharp claws began to rake through thick, raven locks. 

A sickness settled in the air.

"St, stop!"

Wilson's stomach flipped and dropped when the hand in his hair obeyed his command. 

_When was the last time I told him no? I didn't even mean to..._

"Oh? I thought I got rid of that bratty parasite in your head."

Maxwell sounded excited- like he was rediscovering a long forgotten guilty pleasure. He pushed Wilson up on his knees, jerking his head back, yanking hard upon dark hair and grinning wide at the pain filled, terrified expression. He leaned in close, lips thick with cigar stench dragged against Wilson's pale cheek.

"The last time I had to punish you like this, _oh **doll**_ , by the end- you were a perfectly obedient little slut, just for me."

Maxwell spoke in a bold, sultry purr, loud enough for Wes to hear. His eyes widened in horror, and Wes restarted his pathetic escape attempts, baring his teeth at the shadow king. 

It went unnoticed, for as soon as Wilson opened his mouth to shout, Maxwell was forcing him into a deep, sloppy kiss. Claws pricked into the skin on his skull when he tried to turn his head, keeping him still in their powerful clutches under threat of violence. 

The kiss grew ever fervent as Maxwell groaned with desperate arousal, and a long forked tongue slid its way down Wilson's throat, blocking his airway. 

Wilson twisted around, choking on the foreign muscle. He fought back till he could only focus on the burning of his lungs and the teeny, itching trickle of blood running down his temple. 

Just as he felt himself beginning to pass out, the hand on his chin left- Maxwell broke the kiss and slipped two fingers between waiting lips. The claws on his head tensed, sticking deeper into his scalp. Wilson winced, stuttering out a breath through the rough fingers probing his cheeks. 

Turning to Wes, Maxwell made a show of tilting the head in his grasp till Wilson's red face was looking directly into the mime's- slowly thrusting clawed fingers closer to the back of the fluttering throat. Wilson closed his teary eyes, praying Wes couldn't hear him gagging. 

"While I do not appreciate how uncooperative you've made my best pet,"

Maxwell drawled proudly with a smug grin full of fangs-

"I can't say I haven't wanted to break him in front of someone else."

A manic gleam found its home in Maxwell's eyes. 

"You certainly put my pretty little plaything directly in harm's way, for someone who wants to protect him."

Maxwell jerked his fingers from Wilson's mouth, and kneed him in the ribs. 

A squeaky wheeze was all Wilson managed, then he fell to the dirt below. Maxwell was on top of him in an instant, leaping like a tiger. A large hand wrapped easily around skinny pale wrists, while the other slid around between Wilson's legs and began to undo his trousers. 

"N-no! No, get off m-me! Get off!"

Wilson yelled and thrashed about, nearly sobbing in his panic. Maxwell ignored him, kept pulling at his waistband. When Wilson didn't stop kicking, the demon snapped and his clothes crumbled away into nothing. 

Wilson froze, unable to shout, to move- _help me, please help me, someone h-_

"Get off him demon!"

Wilson's mouth dropped open, and his head snapped over to the strange voice.

Wes hung in the stale air with his words, tears streaming down his face, stubbornly staring down the nightmare king. He shivered with fear, yet refused to break eye contact, baring his teeth in a defiant show of aggression.

Maxwell paused his assault to stare back, with vague interest.

"Hm. You weren't supposed to reset like that… your hearing is going, isn't it?"

Wes tried to force a poker face, but Maxwell read him like a picture book. He smirked.

"I'll have to fix that. Listen, although this has been quite adorable," 

He pried Wilson's mouth open with ease, letting out a coo more suited to grandmother seeing her grand-baby when Wilson snarled, trying to bite down.

"I get the impression you won't be a quiet audience unless given motivation, so I suggest you make this easy on him, and _shut up_."

Wes could barely hear Maxwell over the pounding in his head, he didn't know what to do, what to say, if he should say anything, and then it was too late, Maxwell's focus was back on Wilson. 

The tall, beastly man leaned down, mouth open to showcase rows of sharp fangs. Under him, Wilson thrashed about and cried, increasing his struggles as Maxwell descended upon him. Their noses touched.

"Say pal, you don't happen to recall what I promised I'd do if you spoke back to me again?~"

Wilson was paralyzed by that villainous voice, he could only stare into crazed, black eyes. Maxwell was holding his jaws apart, holding him down, so close- 

**_"I said I'd rip your moronic little tongue out."_ **

Maxwell leaned in and the world stopped moving.

With a sickening crunch that Wilson heard and felt _everywhere_ , echoing throughout his whole body, Maxwell clamped down on his tongue. 

Large, sharp fangs sliced through the soft muscle with ease. All the air left his lungs, and after a few blissful seconds the pain smacked down in full, frying his nerves, sending his limbs into a frenzy. They jerked against the solid arm holding him down while Wilson tried to scream, choking on his blood.

It hurt like nothing else, like hell, and it kept getting worse, Maxwell was still biting down, forcing his teeth further through mangled flesh. Wilson couldn't breathe, kept inhaling thick clots of blood that flooded his throat, frothed from his mouth into Maxwell's as the demon kept pulling, twisting his tongue out in a slow and agonizing death roll. His whole existence was boiled down to just this, just agonizing, tearing, seething pain. He burned alive in it, writhing and breaking. Something was separating, pulled taught, only just connected by a thin bloody thread, and then that too was desecrated, ripped apart, and his newly emptied mouth filled with waves of blood. 

He drifted through spurts of blinding pain, found himself by heaving in wet, gasping breaths, vision swimming in and out with the ringing of his ears. Maxwell swallowed, a loud slurping gulp, and Wilson gagged, bringing up nothing but blood and bile. He kept going till his face was purple, unable to breathe. 

Maxwell sat back on his spindly legs and giggled, showing off red stained teeth. After a prolonged moment he snapped, and Wilson's mouth stopped bleeding. The scientist heaved, retching, gasping for any small amount of air he could get. He curled up into himself, hyperventilating.

Wes glared at Maxwell, broken sobs betraying his anger. He'd long since gone limp, only the pins and needles in his arms reminded him this was real, Wilson was hurting, and he couldn't do a thing to help. He dropped his head and wept.

"Aw, come now. It's for your own good, both of you." 

Wilson was picked up by the back of the neck, flipped over onto his stomach, and laid over Maxwell's lap.

"If there are no more rude interruptions, let me show you the only thing my pet is really good for."

Maxwell raised his hand and brought it down, scraping razor edged claws right across Wilson's ass. His prey squealed, painfully and fearfully. 

Wilson attempted to crawl away, prompting a gloved hand around the back of his neck to secure him in place. Maxwell hit him again, groaning in sick satisfaction as Wilson jolted and yelped. A few more rough smacks and he was weeping, biting down onto one of his clenched fists.

Wilson could only see Wes's hands from his position, he noticed them moving through blurry eyes, and realized dully that the other was signing. Maxwell hadn't noticed.

Or didn't care.

Wilson jolted and yelped as his bare bottom was harshly smacked again, soon he was being hit over and over without pause. He fought through the stinging haze to read the letters Wes was slowly spelling, over his high pitched grunts and whines he could hear Maxwell laughing at him-

The first word in the repeating string pieced together, causing all the other words to fall into place.

"Alouette, jentille-"

_Oh._

Wes was singing to him, in his own way. 

He couldn't focus any longer on the rest; Maxwell was forcing two dry fingers inside him, he screamed but he held on to the idea- Wes was singing, comforting him, even now. They had something Maxwell could never take away between them; Wilson clung to the image of Wes's hands, fluid in their movements, creating their song. 

He hung on while his body groaned, rocked painfully back and forth under Maxwell's powerful thrusts, hung on when Maxwell ripped his fingers out, pushed his face into the ground and lined himself up, hung on as he was penetrated, garbled screams all he could manage as protest, hung on as the unbearable burn became worse and worse, _stop, no no no, too fast! I can't, too much, stop, it hurts-  
_

Wilson felt it, the nauseatingly familiar rip and sting of his walls tearing as he was forced apart, enormous cock pressing further inside him, too far. Maxwell was snarling something dirty, claws embedded into Wilson's quivering thighs. He heard his body yowl as his ass met Maxwell's hips, felt the final searing rip of flesh as he was stretched past his limit. The crying and wailing grew as loud as the fog of pain in his head, it was all he could do to tune his focus, he hung as tight as he could to Wes and his song. When Maxwell started pumping hard, snapping thrusts that blinded him with hurt, Wilson lost the unsure hold on reality he'd tried so hard to keep. The pain created a great white space in his head, buzzing with numbing static, and he fell into it, shamefully relieved.

* * *

Maxwell stood up, leaving Wilson motionless in a puddle of blood and cum. He zipped up his slacks, brushing himself off, and turned to Wes. His head was hung, so he grabbed the boy's chin to force eye contact. Tears fell in waterfalls down the pale face. Wes trembled intensely, and yet still found wherewithal to glower at the demon before him.

Maxwell snarled. 

"Hope you enjoyed the show, it's all you'll get. I'm going to send you far away, and if you ever by some miracle end up near my toy again- keep your hands off. Understand, pal?" 

A predatory grin followed the order. 

In a moment of pure, instinctual hatred, Wes spat, right in Maxwell's sneering face. The satisfaction of seeing that proud expression morph into one of disgust was well worth the pain of the shadow hands constricting his rib cage.

" _Well then_. I hope you have fun surviving Wesley."

Before he had time to look at Wilson, Maxwell snapped, and there was a strange vertigo. 

He was falling. 

Wes tried his best to cling on, but the shadows were seeping into his bones; putting him to sleep. 

He tried to call out, something so Wilson knew he wasn't alone, he would never be alone, but all Wes could do was pray his thoughts were loud enough, everything was black.

_I'll find you! Wilson, s'il vous plaît rester forte, je vais vous trouver..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue next and then i am starting on the next part of the series! might be on a bit of a hiatus with this one, i have a brand new maxwil concept that has begun to draw me in... comments and kudos help replenish my soul uwu

**Author's Note:**

> i promise wilson will have a better time soon... ish.... ehhhhhh... we'll put a pin in it. buckle up, this fic is just starting.


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